


Catch a Falling Star

by Abelina



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, References to the Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abelina/pseuds/Abelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer between seasons 3 and 4, a heartbroken Buffy finds a bit of compassion in an unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*~*

Long before she entered the building — before she even set foot on that bus — she’d known she shouldn’t be doing this.  Shouldn’t be lowering herself to becoming _that girl_ , the one who couldn’t let go, couldn’t accept that the end was the end and hung on, pining and whining and putting her face to the definition of pathetic.  Was that really who she was?  She didn’t think so.

So why the hell was she walking down this hallway?  What did she expect to find behind that door?  A big hug and a weepy confession that it was all a dreadful mistake?

Onward she walked, telling that inner reasonable voice of hers to shut up and get lost.  Her heart was pounding so heavily she could feel it trying to burst out of her chest, along with that fluttery, on-edge sensation of far too much adrenaline she usually felt before a fight.  How could a person both want and dread the same thing? 

She could see the door now, the one whose number matched that on the postcard in her purse.  Its streaked glass window showed a hint of movement in the room beyond and she paused, reaching for the wall to steady herself as a wave of nausea swept through her.  She couldn’t do this.  This wasn’t a problem she could beat into submission and afterward dust her hands off and carry on.  If she turned around now, he would never know she was there.

The door opened.  It didn’t creak, didn’t do anything other than swing inward, but the action, its lack of sound, everything about the growing gap felt horror-movie ominous in a way she didn’t understand.  And then he was there, tall and dark as ever, standing with only half his body in the hall, as if he were as uncertain about her presence as she.

“Buffy.”

Seeing him looking so calm, so unaffected, made the tremor in her hands deepen and her stomach clench with anxiety.  How could he look so _normal_ , after everything?  How could he look at her and not feel the pain, clawing and gouging away at his insides?

It was too much.  Hot tears gathered in her eyes, blurring Angel’s face, and she was glad she didn’t have to see him anymore — didn’t have to see him so over her that he couldn’t even pretend to care.  He took half a step forward, and Buffy spun around and fled down the empty hallway as fast as she could.

He caught her just as she shoved open the outer door, a firm hand on her arm pulling her back to him, to what she was both running toward and trying to escape.  His touch had the effect of falling headfirst into cold water, stealing the air from her lungs and sending a jarring, frigid shock through her body.  Her knees wobbled, weakened and aching, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but gasp and stare at Angel’s blurry face.

His grip on her arm anchored her and angered her.  A ghost of feeling, a shadow of the certainty, the safety, the love she once felt in these arms passed over her, leaving in its wake a deepening, gnawing sorrow.  A pain in her side and an ache in her heart that begged the question — how could she ever have felt so much for this man?

And why did she still?

After everything, why had she come here, expecting a miracle, knowing in her heart that their happily ever after was nothing more than her own girlish fantasy?

She twisted her face into a fierce glare that finally broke through Angel’s impassive mask.  An odd glint flared in his eyes’ brown depths and a flash of expression she couldn’t decipher passed over his face and was gone in an instant.  The mask vanished, and he looked like her Angel again, but she didn’t know if that was better, or worse, than him looking like somebody she didn’t know.

“Buffy,” he said, his grip tightening around her arm until it almost hurt.  “What are you doing here?”

To her ears, he sounded angry.  Annoyed, maybe, that she would dare show up in his shiny new life-without-her, and it stuck in her chest, a searing knife thrust into her frozen lungs, ripping through the non-thrall holding her motionless.  She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and tore her eyes from his face, legs carrying her away and gaining strength with each backward step.

When the fire died, the frozen knot in her chest grew even colder, and she knew she couldn’t deny it any longer.  This was over.  _They_ were over, and she had made a big mistake coming here.  Angel spoke again in words her mind didn’t want to hear and refused to decipher, and she took a further step backward, and then another, until she spun around and ran, feet pounding on the pavement as she fled into the night.

She didn’t stop until her lungs burned and her legs gave out beneath her, sending her tumbling in a gasping, shaking heap in the shadows of an abandoned alley.  The instant she landed on the filthy pavement, the tears returned and her chest heaved with sobs that fought to steal away what was left of her breath.

When she ran out of tears and the sobbing gave way to sniffles and hiccups, Buffy pulled herself to her feet, leaning a moment against the brick wall beside her.  She shivered, cold despite the heat of the summer’s night and the lingering warmth of the bricks against her cheek.  The alley was filthy, stunk of God-knows-what, and Buffy knew she was lost but didn’t care. 

Leaving the alley behind, she wandered out onto a street she didn’t recognize, scrubbing at her eyes and imagining how horrendous she must look.  She caught a whiff of salty air on the light but warm breeze coming toward her, so she continued on, knowing that once she found the ocean she could get her bearings.  Antique-looking lanterns lined the street, but Buffy stuck to the shadows, avoiding their yellowish light and the increasing number of people illuminated within it.

The walk cleared her head, cast out the fuzziness and left behind that niggling, stinging pain of truth.  Buffy had a feeling those weren’t the last tears she would shed over this, but for right now she was done crying.  She was so tempted to let the pain of this slide away into that dark corner of her mind, the place she buried what she didn’t want to face, but it wouldn’t go, not completely.  She might be dry-eyed but her chest ached a little more with each step she took.

She had been walking for half an hour when she saw the curve of the Ferris wheel arching over the buildings in the distance.  A memory came to her, a sunbeam in an otherwise bleak moment, of a day spent with her parents back when the most difficult part of life was choosing between Lucky Charms or Count Chocula for breakfast. 

Buffy remembered how her belly churned with nervous butterflies as she climbed into that swinging car for the first time, and how the butterflies stilled when her father climbed in next to her.  Squished between the two most important people in her small universe, Buffy forgot to be afraid as the gigantic wheel started turning.  Up, up, up they soared, high over the city.  Buffy raised her hands in the air and told her father proudly that she was a bird, a golden eagle flying free.

A tendril of warmth seeped into the frigid knot in her belly, loosening it, easing away a little of the sting.  The Buffy of her memories was a happy, carefree child and it felt good to remember even an ounce of that feeling.  She headed toward the wheel, wondering if a bit of flying would be good for a wounded soul.

Hand holding-couples, loud, laughing groups of teenagers, and young families with excited children littered the promenade.  Buffy took a seat on an empty bench at the periphery of the excitement, resting her feet for a moment and watching the activity around her.  All the smiling faces and free laugher made her wonder if things just might someday get better after all.

The prickle of warning racing down her spine had her first cursing herself for daring to think of life in the positive, and then jumping off the bench as the prickle flared into one of recognition.  Buffy clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her palms and whirled around to tell Angel how _not_ impressed she was with his following her all cloak-and-dagger-like only to corner her in a place where she couldn’t make a scene.

But the black-clad vampire now standing in front of her, a cloud of cigarette smoke curling into the air around his head, was not Angel.

Spike’s lips pulled into a delighted smirk and he tossed the butt of the cigarette away, leaving it smoking on the asphalt as he took a swaggering step forward. 

“Hello, Slayer,” he said, smirk widening to show a hint of teeth.  “Miss me?”

*~*


	2. Chapter 2

*~*

Years of responding to unexpected threats had Buffy battle-ready in an instant, and she slipped seamlessly into a fighting stance well before her mind registered Spike’s apparent lack of aggression.  Several people had stopped to watch by the time she realized he was neither moving to attack nor looking particularly threatening at all, and with a sigh she dropped her hands to her sides, forcing her fists to uncurl and relaxing her stance just enough that the busybodies lost interest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked when the people moved off, retreating a few steps backward and scowling when Spike followed.

“Last I heard, you were lord and master of Sunnyhell, not L.A.,” Spike said as he slid onto the bench, throwing his arm across the back of it and crossing his feet out in front of him.

The smoke from his newly lit cigarette wafted into the air, and Buffy fanned the offensive odour away and deepened her scowl.  “What do you want, Spike?”

He took a huffy breath and flicked some ash onto the pavement.  “Can’t a fellow say hello to an old chum without the round of twenty questions?”

Buffy thought he was trying to look offended, but the hint of a smirk curling his lips spoiled the effect. 

“You’re a lot of things, Spike,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “But _my chum_ isn’t one of them.”

“Awe, come now, Slayer,” he said.  “We’ve had some good times, you and me.”

“Oh _yes,”_ she said, laying down the sarcasm as thick as mortar.  “All those times you tried to kill me?  Oh, and the thing with the Judge?  That was _super_ fun.”

Spike chuckled and threw his half-smoked cigarette away.  “Well, I did help you save the world that time.”

The invisible knife in her chest twisted, dug in a little deeper. 

 _Saved the world and sent Angel to hell._

She pressed her fingernails into her palms, counting on the pain to keep her inappropriately timed emotions at bay.  “You know what?  Just go away.”

“You go,” he said.  “You look about ready to bolt, anyway.”

It irked her how close to the mark he was.  She was all flighty and no fighty Buffy tonight, and if the tension in her legs was anything to go by, she was on the verge of fleeing again if only to avoid prolonging this oh-so-happy reunion.  Her options here were bleak at best — leave and give Spike the satisfaction, or stay and endure his presence until he either gave up and left on his own or annoyed her into making him leave. 

Buffy sighed, noting the familiar presence of her stake in her jacket pocket.  There if she needed it, but with the crowd of people and a supreme lack of desire for violence, she didn’t want to have to use it.  Even on Spike.

 _Spike_ , who was sprawled across thebench wearing a smirk so smug she nearly changed her mind about the stake. 

“Staying put, then?”  He lifted one eyebrow a little higher.  “Pity.  I was hoping for a little game of cat and mouse.”

Buffy scoffed and folded her arms across her chest.  “Oh _please_ ,” she said, irritation rising like an itch in her belly, “like you could catch—”

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrists, trapping them at her sides as Spike leered down at her, his face and body barely an inch away. 

“Off your game tonight, Slayer,” he said, in a low, velvety voice that raised all the hairs on the back of her neck. “What’s the trouble?  Not getting any?”

Buffy wrenched her arms free and shoved him backward, hard.  “Shut up.”

“Aha!” he said, with entirely too much satisfaction.  “ _That’s_ why you’re here, isn’t it?  Begging Angel dearest to take you back?”

Heat flared in her cheeks as something angry, something built of rage and shame and a billion other things billowed up inside her and burst free.  Her vision blurred and the world tipped and spun and cleared again in a flash, with Spike pinned beneath her and the point of her stake pressed into his chest.

It felt like being trapped inside a bubble.  Outside everything existed but you couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.  Inside, her hand trembled, the stake tearing a hole in Spike’s shirt, cutting into the pale skin beneath it.  But he didn’t move.  Didn’t fight.  Didn’t anything.

The bubble burst.  Somebody screamed.  Buffy scrambled off him, shoving her stake into her pocket and retreating to the safety of the bench. 

“What the _hell_?” she hissed, gripping the edge of the bench and ignoring the voices around her.  Of all the times she pictured Spike’s ending at her hands, his suicidal surrender never factored in.

Spike met her eyes for barely a second, just long enough for her to see _something_ glistening there in the yellow lamplight.  Something weighty and awful that made that painful, frozen part inside her want to reach out to him in shared misery.  He said nothing as rose from the ground and parked himself at the other end of the bench, dropping his face into his hands.

“Sir? Sir, are you okay?”

Buffy scowled at the middle-aged woman about to set her hand on Spike’s shoulder.  “He’s fine.”

“I wasn’t asking _you_!”  She moved closer.  “Do I need to call the police?”

Spike jerked away just before she could touch him.  “You bloody do _not,”_ he said, only now noticing the newly gathered crowd.  With one last look at Buffy, he jumped up and stalked away across the promenade.

With Spike gone, all eyes settled on Buffy, narrowed and accusing or wide and curious.  Whispers and finger pointing and a few readied cell phones soon joined the dozen or so stares, and Buffy made her own dash to freedom before anything else happened to worsen her night.  A few voices called after her but she ignored them, slipping her way into a knot of fair-goers and disappearing into the crowd. 

It took her a few minutes to acknowledge that she wasn’t scanning the promenade to make certain she wasn’t being followed.  No, the moment her eyes settled on a familiar bleached head, glowing like a beacon as it passed beneath a hanging black light, Buffy let out a heavy sigh and turned to follow, wondering about the jittery feeling slowly building in her chest.  Spike had already shown he wasn’t interested in a fight, so it wasn’t that anticipation bothering her.

Except that it was, only the other way around.  The image of Spike’s eyes, haunted and hurting as he hauled himself off the pavement, refused to leave her alone as she trailed after him.  The universe had tipped so far into the unknown Buffy didn’t know what to make of it.  She just knew she had to get some answers.

A rogue gust of wind came up from behind, whipping her hair around and lifting the edges of her jacket.  Spike’s whole body tensed beneath his black coat and he stopped, tilting his face up to the wind.  Taking two slow, deliberate steps forward, Spike leaned against the nearby building, his back to her, the smoke from yet another cigarette curling around him.

She balled her hands into fists to stop them from trembling as she closed the gap between them, her pace slowing the closer she came.  Spike pushed away from the wall and turned around.  For the second time that night, Buffy found herself staring into a familiar face whose complete lack of expression stirred a storm of uncertainty in her gut. 

Because somewhere between the gust of wind and her final step, she figured it out.

It was quieter out here, back behind the administrative buildings.  Quiet and empty, and while her senses used to betray her sometimes in the beginning, right now she was certain she and Spike were alone.  No other people.  No other vampires.

She must have gasped, or made a face, or done something to reveal her light bulb moment, because Spike looked away quickly, turning his face down to watch his hands flick his zippo open and closed.

“Best laid plans,” he said, voice quiet and almost trembling.  “Should’ve known you’d manage to fuck _that_ up, too.”

“Spike—”

He looked up then, eyes a little too moist, smile a little too forced.  “Guess we got more in common than you thought.”

*~*


	3. Chapter 3

*~*

“You’re pathetic!”

It wasn’t the first thing that came to mind.  No, she had to bite back those thoughts, shove them down and stake them until they dusted.  No way in hell was she going to stand there and let him know that the new little ache in her chest felt far too much like compassion for whatever heartbreak had led him to this.

Spike’s face closed off, eyes still moist but gaze hard as steel.  “ _I’m_ pathetic?”  He seemed to vibrate as he moved toward her.  “Look at you!  Tell me, Slayer, how’s it feel knowing you’re not even worth a farewell shag?”

Her fist shot out so fast she didn’t even realize she’d moved until Spike growled from the ground at her feet, holding his nose.

Buffy didn’t wait around to hear any more.  Mystery solved, it was time for a hasty exit.  She rushed past him before he could struggle to his feet, hurrying away from the park and the vampire whose words, while not exactly true, still hit too close for comfort.

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.  Spike was on her heels faster than she could escape, alternately swearing at her and sputtering all sorts of semi-coherent insults that sounded as though he meant them for somebody darker and deader than her.  Buffy stopped and Spike ploughed into her as she spun around to face him.

“Could you shut your mouth for once in your worthless existence?”  She shoved him backward when it looked unlikely that he would remove himself from her personal space and crossed her arms over her chest.  “You know, I should have done it when I had the chance.”

“What, staked me?” Spike seemed to wilt before her eyes, the snarky, irate vampire morphing into a slouched, trembling creature.  “Yeah, you should have.”

Buffy threw her hands in the air. “Stop it!  God, Spike, this isn’t you!”

Wait— _what?_

Spike’s head snapped up and his eyes studied her face.  “And what would you know about me?” he said after a long moment.

Buffy sighed, her anger fading as fast as Spike’s bravado.  “I know you aren’t a quitter.”

Welcome to Bizarro-World.  Buffy Summers, vampire grief counsellor since 1999.

He chuckled, but there was no humour in it.  “Yeah, right,” he said, slumping back against the wall.  “Not quitting’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

Buffy watched him close his eyes and jam his hands into his duster’s pockets.  It struck her that for all he attempted to convince her, and probably himself, that he would rather die than be without Drusilla, really he just didn’t want to be alone.  Maybe, just maybe, the presence of a supposed enemy — and were they, really?  It seemed they had stopped trying to kill each other somewhere along the way — was preferable to suffering in solitude.  No matter how stupidly he tried to go about it.

There was that twinge again, that annoying little wiggle in her stomach that wanted her to say things like _I understand_ and _let’s be miserable together._   She wanted to take that urge and drown it in a bucket of holy water, because she _so_ didn’t need a tagalong, mopey vampire with a slayer-related death wish dragging her already dismal mood down even further.

And yet...

She turned and leaned back against the building.  “I never got around to begging,” Buffy said, the words slipping past her lips before she could stop herself from speaking.

One corner of Spike’s mouth turned upward.  “Glad one of us has a few brain cells left.”

“I thought...”  She stopped when Spike opened his eyes to look at her, feeling her cheeks start to burn. 

“Thought what?”

She couldn’t answer.  A stab of fear lanced through her belly, and it wasn’t for the vampire beside her, but the thought of what she was about to do.  Misery might love company but Buffy had to draw the line somewhere, and a heart-to-heart chat with _Spike?_   Yeah, _so_ not happening. 

She started to move away from the building, but Spike’s hand closed around her wrist before she could finish her step.  Same move, different grip.  Not a restraint this time but a wordless plea, and her rebellious hurting heart thumped an answer despite her misgivings. 

His eyes met hers and held.  She could see her reflection in his pupils, he stood so close, but it was the reflection of her own inner turmoil staring back at her through eyes more alive than any vampire deserved that changed her mind.  She looked down at her wrist and his calloused fingers, nails partially coated in chipped black polish.  The hand opened, releasing her, and she returned her gaze to those eyes, tossed her head toward the path, and let him follow her.

She watched him sidelong as they walked awkwardly together in some twisted evening stroll.  A woman passed them, smiling in the way people did when they wanted to show they understood the problem even though they had no freaking clue.  Might as well have patted her on the head and told her to cheer up, Buffy thought, for all the good it would do.

“What’s that?”

“I said, I hate those stupid fake smiles, like they _get it_ , you know?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flash grin.  “All the pity party’s likely gonna _get_ is eaten.”

“No!  No eating!”  A pair of joggers stumbled at her shouted words, and she grabbed Spike’s arm to haul him off the path.

“Just joking, Slay— _ow!_ ”

Buffy pushed him up against the half wall bordering the path, one fist clutching the lapels of his duster, the other balled and ready to strike.  “I mean it, Spike,” she said through clenched teeth, feeling the familiar tickle of adrenaline pouring through her.  “Don’t you _dare._ ”

Spike raised his hands in the air, and though she felt his body tense against hers, he made no move to fight her hold on him.  He stood there, frozen, breathing— _breathing?_ —hard, looking not at her but down between them.  The lingering smirk from his attempt at humour slipped away and his eyes widened slightly, so slightly she barely noticed as his gaze traveled up, up, up to meet hers.

 _Wow._

Electricity jolted through her, zinging down her spine, up the back of her neck, radiating out along every nerve until her fingers tingled, toes turned numb and she couldn’t breathe.  Something made the Earth stop spinning, made Spike’s fingers move in slow motion as they dragged across her cheek, blazing a trail of heat on her face and stirring a surge of desire in her belly.  She flattened her hand against his chest, head swimming, lungs struggling for air.

“Buffy...” 

His voice, low and raspy, spoke her name in a whisper.  Fingers, her fingers, uncurled from their fist and reached out, traced along his bottom lip.  Half-closed eyes levelled her with a smouldering gaze while a tentative hand slid beneath her jacket, brushing the small of her back before pulling her impossibly closer.

When his lips touched hers the world exploded into motion, spinning in a dizzying spiral at mach three and bringing back the distant sounds of the fair and the ocean and the pounding feet of joggers on the path.  Reality washed over her like a frigid wave and she ripped herself away from Spike and the kiss that could not have just happened.

But the lingering taste of cigarettes and alcohol on her lips denied her that bit of untruth, and she stared at the equally startled-looking vampire still backed up against the wall.

“What the _hell_ did you just do?”

*~*


	4. Chapter 4

*~*

 

Spike had the decency, or at least enough sense of self-preservation, not try to diffuse the situation with his own special brand of humour or sputter off any excuses about her wanting it just as much as he—which she did _not_.  He just stared back at her, eyes as wide as she’d ever seen them, hands in the air as though she had a stake or something equally deadly aimed at his heart.

“Bloody hell,” he said, chest rising rather quickly with unneeded breaths.

“We—I—you—” Buffy groaned and took a step back.  “No,” she said, shaking her head at Spike as he moved toward her.  “No.”

A wave of dizziness swept over her, bringing with it a rush of burning embarrassment, and Buffy suddenly couldn't look, couldn't be here, couldn't move fast enough to get to where Spike was not.

 _Path!  Path!  Find the path!  Walk-don’t-run!  Oh God, oh God, oh God!_

“Look—”

Spike’s hand closed around her arm and she jerked away, but the contact broke through the frantic haze, and though her legs itched with the need to run, Buffy stood tall and threw her hands up in front of her.  “Don’t!”

Spike scowled.   “Oh for fuck’s sake, Slayer, I’m not gonna jump you!”

Buffy crossed her arms and scoffed.  “What, you’re suddenly Mr. I’m-In-Control?”

He actually chuckled at that, with the smirking, tongue-in-teeth thing that did nothing to draw her attention away from that newly dangerous part of his face, but at least resembled the usual Spike enough to let her focus on the important things—such as not running away like a frightened dormouse and never, _ever_ letting that happen again.

“Right, and you’re the bloody picture of restraint,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her that somehow gave the impression of both annoyance and amusement.  “Didn’t mean to...”

 _Crap._

She could practically hear the _but_ hovering there, just waiting for Spike to give it voice.  Didn’t mean to but—what?  Liked it?  Wanted more?  Buffy scrunched her face until her eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see his expression as it started to soften.  A breath of air tickled her cheek, as though he meant to touch her face but stopped at the last moment. 

“I _know_ , Slayer,” he said, and Buffy hoped she was imagining the little waver in his voice.  “Never happened.  Never happen again.”

“Right.”  She opened her eyes to find him a comfortable few steps away and looking somewhere in the vicinity of her left elbow.  “Temporary insanity.”

“Out of our bloody minds,” he said, now looking up at the sky.

Buffy nodded, willing the post-kiss awkwardness away in favour of the regular sort of awkward.  “That was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

Spike’s lips twitched as though he wanted to disagree but for once, he took her advice about keeping his mouth shut.

In the silence that followed, Buffy struggled to find a place to look that wasn’t dominated by Spike.  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t notice before how big a presence he truly had.  Without saying a word, she turned and started walking back toward the fair, knowing that Spike would follow.  Why she couldn’t say, nor could she quite get a grasp on the reason she wasn’t going to stop him.  Sure enough, a few seconds later she felt his leather coat brush against her hand as he came up beside her. 

The night was getting weirder and weirder.  Had anyone suggested to her to take a moonlit stroll with Spike the next time they met, she’d have laughed in their faces and probably suggested they seek professional help for their delusions.  Yet there they were, moon above, strolling path below.  Bizarro-World never ceased to amaze.

They had nearly reached the arcade buildings when Buffy risked meeting Spike’s eyes again.  The lead weight in her stomach dropped away when the contact failed to produce the body-wracking spark that had started all the trouble.  There was a moment there, a small, terrifying moment, when she feared the event-that-must-not-be-named was just the beginning of something bigger, something even darker and more perverse than this whole mess with Angel.  But she could see now that the sparkage was a one-off, a fluke, a weird reaction to finding shared understanding with a creature she loathed.

Or something.  _Loathe_ was really too strong a word for someone who helped you save the world, no matter what was — or as it turned out, was not — in it for him.  Strong mutual dislike, she decided, was a better fit.  Even if she disliked him a little less right now while they were both passengers on the same grief cruise.

And what a wild ride _that_ was turning out to be.

They came to a bench beneath a dimly lit lantern in that same old-fashioned style, and by unspoken agreement sat down at opposite ends.  Spike stretched his legs out, crossing his booted feet at his ankles.  Buffy heard the _snick_ of his lighter, but the breeze carried the smoke away and she said nothing, just stared out at the throng of people laughing and screaming in their carefree fun.

“Like to watch, sometimes,” Spike said, and when Buffy cast a glance at him, he was looking straight ahead and wearing a hint of a wistful smile.

“If this is about picking out your dinner, stop right now.” 

Spike flashed her a quick smirk and sidelong glance.  “ _No_ ,” he said, drawing the word out as if she should have known better.  “None of them have any clue what’s out there hunting them, you know?”

“Oh believe me,” she said, a smile stretching across her lips.  “I do.  I can’t imagine ever being that innocent.”

“But you were, once.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike turn to face her.  Buffy looked over, started by the way he was looking at her—head cocked to one side, eyes very lightly squinted, a hint of his usual sardonic leer on his lips.  It kind of felt as though he was somehow seeing her for the first time, but what he saw she couldn’t imagine and didn’t want to.

“I was,” she answered, after a long moment in which the world around her seemed to blur just a little.  “And so were you.”

“Was a long time ago.”  In the distance, somebody screamed, and Spike scanned the crowd.  “Vampires.”

Buffy hadn’t felt a thing, but when she followed the direction of Spike’s gaze, she saw the young woman struggling as two vampires pulled her into the shadowed space between two buildings in the distance.

She didn’t wait to see whether Spike would follow or not, and honestly she hoped he wouldn’t, because bench buddies or not, she didn’t want to have to wonder at his motives when she had a couple of other fang-faces to fight.  _A couple_ turned out to be three bumbling fledglings, hoping to share a meal of trembling blonde behind the target-shooting booth.  The blonde was smart enough to run away without being told when Buffy burst onto the scene, stake in hand and tired of the fight before it even began.

“Hey!  That wasn’t nice!” said the closest vampire, staring past her to the retreating form of his would-be dinner.

“Know what else isn’t nice?”  When he blinked stupidly and looked toward his cohorts for an answer, Buffy thrust her stake through his heart and watched the breeze scatter his dust onto the other two. 

“Ruining the weirdest night of my life,” Buffy said, providing the answer to her own question and stalking toward the vampires who were hurrying quite steadily backward.  “And biting people?  That’s not so nice, either.”

“We—we didn’t bite anybody!” said the smaller vampire, scrambling to hide behind the larger one.

“Not for lack of trying.”  Buffy twirled her stake in her hand and stopped a few feet in front of the vampires who had backed themselves conveniently into a corner.  “So, who’s next?  Let’s make this quick.  I’m wasting primo wallowing time here, and you guys?  So not worth it.”

The larger vampire gaped at her.  “Who _are_ you?

“She’s the Slayer, you twerp,” said Spike, voice rumbling very closely behind her.

A shiver ran up her spine, cold and prickly.  The vampires stopped trying to hide behind one another, and Buffy didn’t need to see Spike’s face to know which one he was wearing.

The vampires blinked and said, _“What’s a slayer?”_

Their eyes followed some movement behind her, gazes landing frighteningly close to her neck, and the shiver in her spine intensified, exploding into a pulsing vibration in time to her pounding heart.  Around her, the air felt dangerously still.  Spike chuckled humourlessly and the sound churned her guts to the point of nausea. A chill crept up her back, ghostly fingers trailing up her spine like a deadly caress, and when Spike spoke next, his breath fluttered over her ear and left her fighting not to cringe. 

“The best night of your life,” he said, fingers brushing along the line of her jugular.

Buffy gripped her stake to the point of pain, mind whirling as she sought to find a way out of this.  Stupid, _so_ stupid, to think Spike could be anything but the evil monster destiny had made him.  She had dropped her guard and was going to pay for it now.  Spike’s presence resonated at her back and the fledglings moved away from the wall, sudden confidence blazing in their yellow eyes as they started forward.

Just as they were nearing the danger zone, Spike vanished.  The fledglings halted, the little one stumbling into the big one, and from somewhere above her head, Spike laughed again, a cocky chuckle oozing with glee.

“Who am I kidding?” he said.  “She’s your worst nightmare.”

*~*


	5. Chapter 5

*~*

In the half second it took for Buffy to process what just happened, the vampires scattered.  The big one dashed around to the left and the little one charged, screaming as he ran straight into her stake.  Unfortunately, it crumbled to dust with him, but she didn’t have time to worry about it just now.  She caught the arm of the fleeing fledgling and flung him into the side of the building, rattling the flimsy wooden walls with the impact.  From inside came the sound of several target guns firing followed by a chorus of angry cursing.

The vampire scrambled to his feet, but Buffy kicked him in the chest, knocking him into a more solid wall.  When he didn’t rise right away, she darted her eyes around the space between the buildings, searching for something she could use in place of her dusted stake.  A snarl from the corner snapped her attention back to her opponent before she could find a suitable weapon.

He snarled again, curling his lips and baring his fangs as he shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other.  He was going to charge.  It would be clumsy and she already had a plan for avoiding the move, seeing as how her lack of stake meant his continued existence for a little while longer.   She scanned the space around her quickly for anything wooden and pointy, but again found nothing.  Any second now—

He charged, barrelling forward with a bestial growl.  Buffy jumped and caught the edge of the roof and used the vampire’s shoulder for leverage.  It worked better than she’d hoped and she landed in a crouch atop the metal roof with a _clang_ that stirred another flurry of cursing from the people inside and a round of applause from Spike, who was standing on the ridgepole and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Buffy scowled and aimed her finger at him.  “I’ll deal with you later!”

Spike chuckled in a way Buffy could only describe as _evil_.  “That a promise, Slayer?”

Somebody below yelled at them to get the hell off the roof, saving her from having to come up with a response.  The vampire on the ground tried to leap up, but he landed hard on his belly and started sliding down, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the smooth metal roof.  A strappy leather sandal to the forehead sent him soaring backward onto the pavement below, where he let out a pained yelp before staggering to his feet.

Buffy ran along the roof and jumped down, landing just next to a narrow path leading between another two buildings.  She didn't look to see if he would follow, knowing even before she heard his lumbering footsteps behind her as she ran that he would give chase.  A grin came to her lips as she recalled thinking a similar thought about Spike just a few minutes ago.  Vampires, it seemed, could be predictable like that in any given situation.

The broken broom handle lay against the back wall of a concession building, right where she spied it from the target-shooting roof.  Buffy dove for it the moment she broke out of the narrow alley, letting her momentum carry her motion into a rolling somersault.  She came up on her feet just as the vampire tore his way into the wider space, broom handle aimed and ready for business.

Saliva dribbled from the vampire’s mouth, gathering to foam at the corners and glistening on his fangs.  His yellow eyes were wild beneath his angry brow, pinpoints of mindless fury fixed in her direction, unaware of the danger. 

Buffy hefted her broom handle.  “Anyone ever tell you you’re ugly when you’re angry?”

He answered with a sickening roar that died away as he turned to dust.

Buffy yanked back the broom handle before it met the same fate as her stake and swung it at Spike’s head when he landed beside her.  He ducked and caught the end of it, and held it just firmly enough that she couldn’t easily get it back.

“Ah-ah-ah, Slayer,” Spike said, lips turned up in a hint of a smirk.  “Save the pointy and wooden for the fangy lot.”

“You _are_  the fangy lot, Spike.”  He raised his eyebrow at her, waiting, until she lowered her arms and he released the handle.  She scowled at him.  “Evil.”

His grin turned into a smug smile and he splayed his palm over his chest.  “Why, Slayer, didn’t know you cared.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and huffed.  “As if.”

“So!”  Spike clapped his hands together and bounced on the toes of his boots.  “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

 “Shyeah, that was _exactly_ what I wanted to do tonight,” Buffy said, tossing the broom handle to the ground.  “No thanks to _you_ , you big jerk.”

But Spike only chuckled and walked away, heading down the narrow path with an annoying little bounce to his step.  Oh, he was _infuriating_ —which explained why she was following him, half running to catch up to his longer strides. 

She came up beside him as he wove his way around clusters of teenagers and shoved into him with her shoulder.  “That could’ve been a lot quicker if you’d just minded your own business, you know.”

Spike slowed his stride to a more Buffy-friendly pace and turned his head to answer her.  “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“I’ve had enough _fun_ for one night, thank—”  Spike’s eyebrows shot up and Buffy felt the colour rise in her cheeks.  “God, ego much?  I meant—never mind.  Why am I even doing this?”

She spun around, fully intent on walking away, but once again Spike caught her by the wrist and pulled her back.

“Cos you got nowhere better to be?”

Damn him for that irritating smirk.  She wanted to wipe it off his face with the pointy end of the broom handle, but it was just as well she had left it behind because she didn’t feel much like a repeat of the suicide-by-stake attempt and its corresponding crowd of completely oblivious would-be do-gooders.  So damn him for being right and for being smug, and while she was at it, for being a vampire and a moron and not all that bad an individual to spend an evening with in mutual heartbrokenness.

 _Yes, that’s right.  Buffy’s cracked and the world’s gone insane and William the Bloody makes a great wallowing companion._

Buffy sighed and felt the anger rush out of her like a deflating balloon.  “Do you think anyone would care if I punched you right now?”

“Likely not,” Spike said.  “Just watch the nose, will you?  It’s taken enough of a beating lately.”

Her gaze drifted to the body part in question, where she noticed for the first time a cluster of faded bruises over the bridge of his nose and beneath his eyes.  Buffy fought the bizarre urge to touch her finger to the darkest of the marks, clenching her hands into fists as an added precaution.

“Could do without the googly eyes, Slayer.”

Buffy blinked and shifted her eyes to meet his.  “Not googly,” she said, scowling at the little smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.  “I’m just not used to seeing you so...beaten.”

The smile fell and he looked down at the ground, his shoulders slumping subtly beneath his duster.  “Yeah, well...”

If that sharp little blade weren’t still lodged in her chest, jabbing a little deeper each time she took a breath, Buffy might have wanted to further damn Spike for the raging flood of compassion pouring into her heart.  But the knife was still there, cold steel chilling her insides, whispering of stupid dreams, of wasted time, of not being worthy enough for even a goodbye.  Buffy gasped, feeling her eyes prick with tears, as Spike turned to her again, jaw clenched so tightly he looked like he might shatter if she so much as breathed.

She couldn’t find any traces of the brash, prideful vampire beneath the fallen creature in front of her, and she swayed with sudden dizziness at the sensation of being pulled outside of her body into some weightless, tingly limbo, where all she could see, looking at Spike, was a reflection of herself.

*~*


	6. Chapter 6

*~*

Buffy shook her head to clear the remnants of dizziness as the ground finally settled beneath her.  Spike watched her, hands buried in his duster’s pockets, eyes glassy and wide and hiding nothing.  It was typical, really, that he would find yet another way to shatter everything she thought she knew.  She and Angel would never be friends no matter how much she wanted to believe it at the time, and vampires, even soulless ones, could have their hearts broken.

Funny how she hadn’t even considered that the emotions swirling around Spike like a death shroud were anything but genuine.  They were real, all right.  Real and painful and she couldn’t deny it, not with every twisting ache in her hurting heart staring back at her through Spike’s eyes.  Her bruises might be hidden, but she had them, too. 

Buffy dragged her hand across her face to wipe away her tears and locked her gaze with Spike’s.  “I’m sorry.”

Still as a statue, he stared back at her, eyes intense and searching.  A shiver, a whisper of the spark that led to the kiss tingled along her spine.  Her breath caught in her throat and Spike finally moved, letting out a long sigh as he stepped toward her.

He seemed to move in slow motion, as if he were walking through thick, sticky mud, but when he came to a stop in front of her, the toes of his boots touching her sandals, it felt as though he had just appeared there out of nowhere.  Buffy released the breath she was holding as Spike brushed his fingertips through her hair, spreading the tingling sensation over her scalp.

“Git’s not worth it,” Spike said, holding her gaze a moment longer before he took a step back and tilted his face up to the starry sky.

The buzzing in her brain, the shiver of electricity swirling over her skin didn’t fade with a bit of distance.  His words wrapped around her wounded heart like a bandage but the _something else_ that passed between them in that instant prickled at the back of her neck in warning.  Buffy tightened her arms around her stomach, though whether she was holding something in or keeping something out, she didn’t know.  Spike stood close, close enough that she would barely have to reach to touch him.  Too close, but her feet refused to move.

“Not bloody worth it,” he repeated, still staring up at the sky, and this time Buffy knew he wasn’t talking about Angel.

Buffy tilted her head upward, not wanting to think about the sort of catastrophe that could turn a century's worth of love into bitter regret.  The noise from the fair drowned out the silence that fell around them as they stood staring at the stars, the cool breeze from the ocean teasing her hair and making Spike's coat flap against her jeans.  Her heartbeat slowed to normal and the tingling on her skin faded to a wispy touch, and though she couldn’t help but be aware of Spike’s proximity, Buffy thought that maybe running into him tonight wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.




A shooting star streaked across the sky, a blaze of light that died away just as quickly as it flared to life.

Spike sighed and bumped her knee with his.  “Did you make a wish?”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Buffy asked, curious about whether he’d done the same.

Spike scuffed his boots against the pavement and Buffy looked at him, watching as his lips stretched into a wistful smile.  “Think I’ve had enough of stars.”

There was a story behind that, Buffy knew, but she didn’t ask.  “How do you feel about Ferris wheels?” she said instead.

Spike lifted his eyebrow and his eyes flicked toward the object in question.  “Fancy a ride do you, Slayer?”

She opted to ignore the double entendre with all but a cursory kick to his boot.  “It was my plan before you oh so thoughtfully graced me with your presence.”

The smirk he wore now was nothing if not amused, and still really too close for comfort.  “She says, like she hasn’t loved every minute of it.”

“ _Anyway_...”  Buffy slid backward a couple of inches and Spike’s smile widened to show teeth.  “Ferris wheel.  One time offer.  Expires immediately.”

She started walking and Spike fell in step beside her, as she knew he would.  There were endless reasons for her to want him gone, but the unorthodox solace his companionship brought outweighed all of those tonight.  It wasn’t the first time they had put aside their differences to face a common enemy, as he had been quick to remind her earlier.

The walk to the Ferris wheel took a couple of minutes of weaving through the crowd and avoiding collisions with over-excited children.  The line was small when they reached it and after a short wait, the attendant ushered them into the last empty swinging car, a bright blue one much smaller than the one from Buffy’s memories.  She wasn’t sure how she had squeezed into these cars with her parents as there didn’t seem to be quite enough space between her and Spike once the two of them were seated.

The attendant locked the safety bar into place.  “Have fun!”  he said, giving them a wave as he pulled a lever and started the wheel turning.

Buffy gripped the bar across her lap as they rose higher, the resurgence of the fluttery apprehension from her childhood taking her by surprise.  She could feel Spike watching her but refused to look at him, focusing instead on the spokes of the wheel as it turned, forcing herself to take deep, steadying breaths.  This was silly and she knew it, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that any minute the car was going to detach itself and send them tumbling to the very hard pavement below.

As their car rose to the top of the circle, it slowed to a stop and Buffy slammed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. 

Spike’s quiet chuckle penetrated the whirling in her head.  “Don’t tell me you’re _scared_?”

“Spike!”  She meant to sound insulted, but even she could hear the note of panic in her voice.

He snorted and the puff of air flitted over her neck, and Buffy just _knew_ he was going to bite her right there at the top of the Ferris wheel where she had no hope of fighting back.  She felt him move, brushing against her as he narrowed the space between them to almost nothing.  Every muscle in her body tightened, and she forced her fingers to release the bar at the same moment that Spike’s hands closed gently around her wrists.

“Buffy,” he said, and the use of her name was enough to make her open her eyes to find his looking back at her, the corners of them crinkled with amusement.

“What?”  Her mouth was as dry as sand and her voice just as gritty.

Spike still had hold of her arms and he lifted them up away from the bar, chuckling when she flinched and shut her eyes again.  “No, keep them open,” he said.  “You can save the world, you sure as hell can look at it from up here.”

She knew the last thing she should be doing was listening to Spike, but she did so anyway, conscious of his thumbs circling lightly on her wrists and wondering why she didn’t just pull away.  He tilted is head in the direction of _out there_ , eyes sliding sideways, and she followed his gaze, slowly turning to face the scene in front of her.

The ocean spread out to the left, waves glowing blue-white in the moonlight as they broke upon the shore and crashed into the pilings of the pier.  To the right she could see the edges of the fair, people as tiny and busy as ants scurrying amongst the rides and buildings.  Beyond that, Los Angeles shone bright with streetlights and headlights and skyscrapers for miles and miles.  Buffy inhaled deeply, breathing in the salty coastal air mingled with the city’s unique scent, and as the wheel started turning again, Spike lifted her arms into the air and let go.

“Free as a bird,” Buffy whispered, remembering now that _this_ was the feeling she desired when she decided to ride the wheel — the sensation of soaring, of freedom, of getting back a tiny piece of the world she left behind when she became the slayer.

“Whatever happened to, the life that we once knew,” Spike said, speaking, she felt, to the night rather than to her.

He had his eyes shut and his face tipped up to the wind, arms not raised as hers were but bent behind his head.  He looked so unlike himself that Buffy wondered if she ever really knew anything about him at all. 

His lips parted and he whispered, so quietly the wind nearly swallowed the words, “Can we really live without each other?”

Whatever the source, they seemed to Buffy to be the most fitting of sentiments.

*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics quoted in this chapter belong to Lennon/McCartney/Harrison/Starkey, not me or Spike.


	7. Chapter 7

*~*

A new lightness settled into Buffy’s chest as she stepped out of the little car, a feeling of relief, or maybe even hope.  Her world as she had known it had ended, not for the first time and likely not the last.  At the top of the wheel, she couldn’t help but see that _the_ world was still out there, thriving as it always had and maybe she could too, even if that meant things would look a little different.  The Ferris wheel ride really had been a good thing for her wounded soul, and aside from the obvious she’d have said the same for Spike.  Whatever inner part of him needed healing — if not a soul, then maybe his heart — seemed a little less broken.  Though he was hardly the smirking, arrogant Spike she once knew him to be, there was a new strength to his stride, a new set to his shoulders as they walked along the promenade, and if she were happy to see it, well, it wouldn’t be the weirdest emotion of the night.

Buffy wasn’t surprised when the bench they slipped onto was the same one she had picked to rest on at the beginning of the evening.  The crowd had thinned out, with fewer children running amongst the more sedate groups of strolling adults and only a scattered handful of teenagers occasionally bursting into the foreground with their youthful exuberance.  Buffy watched the people and tried to pretend that Spike wasn’t watching _her_ instead.  She could feel his eyes on her with an awareness that tickled the back of her neck and spread tingling fingers over her scalp.  Some part of her itched to face him, to study him as he studied her and figure out the meaning behind the spark in his eyes and the pensive expression on his face.

Somehow, Buffy didn’t think she was ready for the answer to that particular question.

After what seemed a very long time, Spike shifted his body to face the crowd and Buffy heard the sound of his lighter.  “Bar fight,” he said, after taking a drag off his cigarette.

Buffy drew her eyebrows inward as she turned to look at him, finally daring now that he was no longer looking at her.  “What?”

Spike tapped his nose with his finger.  “Bar fight.  Where I got these.”

The bruises.  She had almost forgotten about those, in the pleasant post-wheel haze.  “But I thought you—because of...?”

“Her?” Spike’s lips twisted into half a smile.  “Believe me, love, a fellow doesn’t get pissed blind on bourbon and provoke a bar full of Fyarl demons without a hell of a good reason.”

“Or a bad one,” Buffy said, wondering, when he clenched his jaw, facial muscles twitching, if she had said the wrong thing.

Spike sighed, relaxing his jaw and nodding tightly.  “Not worth it, right?”

“Right.” Buffy twirled the ring on her finger, the claddagh ring Angel gave her on her birthday a lifetime ago. 

She pulled it off and looked at it lying in her palm, wondering how something she had once seen as beautiful could now seem so meaningless.  There hadn’t been an ounce of loyalty or friendship in Angel’s eyes tonight, and as for the part about the heart, well, her own had already shown her the answer to that.  She slipped the ring into her jacket pocket, certain enough not to want to wear it, but not quite ready to throw it away, either.

“He didn’t even say goodbye.” 

She hadn’t meant to tell him that.  She hadn’t even told her friends about Angel’s fade-to-black escape after the battle and honestly didn’t even want to think about it herself.  It was an ending she’d have swooned over at the movies once upon a time, but it wasn’t nearly so peachy in real life.

“ _She_ did,” Spike said.  “With a bloody torch and pitchfork.”

A giggle rose up in her chest and she was unable to suppress it as an image flashed through her mind, something resembling that scene from Beauty and the Beast where the villagers storm the castle, though she found she couldn’t decide on who was the beauty and who was the beast.  Buffy tried to cover her mouth with her hand, but her laughter slipped out anyway and Spike scowled at her as he tossed his half-smoked cigarette away.

“That’s right, Slayer, laugh it up,” he said, sounding more weary than irritated as he slipped his coat off one shoulder and lifted the edge of his shirt.  “Next time you take a trident to the gut you can tell me how funny it is.”

Buffy’s eyes widened at the sight of the three partially healed circular wounds dotting a line across Spike’s abdomen.  He let the shirt fall and shoved his arm back into his coat before she could look too closely, but she saw enough to know it had to have been extremely painful—in more ways than one. 

The last of her laughter died away and she looked up to meet his eyes.  “Oh, God...”

“Thing belonged to her _friend_ ,” Spike said, his jaw growing tenser as he spoke.  “Ran me through with it when I wouldn’t—” 

He stopped and tore his gaze from hers, swivelling to face forward.    




Buffy shuddered and knew the cool breeze had nothing to do with it.  “That’s...not so funny.”

Spike snorted quietly. “If she hadn’t dropped the torch and set the motel on fire, it might’ve been downright tragic.”

“If she—” Buffy cleared her throat and tried to keep her expression neutral.  “Drusilla—”

“As undead and insane as ever.”  Spike glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  “But watching that place burn took away the sting for bit.”

Buffy wanted to ask if Spike and Drusilla had lived at the motel, or she had just met with her demons there, but held her tongue.  It honestly didn’t matter and it wasn’t worth satisfying her curiosity at the expense of Spike’s mood, which was teetering on the verge of plummeting back down. 

 _And no wonder_ , Buffy thought, mentally filling in the heartbreaking blanks of Spike’s final encounter with Drusilla and suppressing another shudder.  Maybe it made her a hypocrite, but the memory of those angry red wounds standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin around them burned hot and angry in her chest.  An intentional attack, for the sole purpose of causing suffering—nobody deserved that, not even Spike. 

For the second time that night, and the second time ever, Buffy told Spike she was sorry.  He didn’t turn but she saw him smile, and not the sort of smirk she was used to seeing on his face, but a hint of an honest grin. 

“Me too,” he said, in a quiet voice she barely recognized.  “But that’s over now, isn’t it?  Moving forward, and all that.”

Forward, whatever it meant, seemed easier now than it had just a few hours ago.  “Going backward really isn’t an option.”

“Wouldn’t want that, anyway, now that it’s all said and done,” Spike said.

“No, I guess not.” 

The thought of it didn’t cause the knife to dig in deeper.  In fact, as Spike tapped her foot with his, she realized that somewhere along the way, the sharp little blade had vanished, leaving an aching but healing wound behind.

“Sunnydale’s still going to be there, whether he is or not,” she said, more to herself than anything.  She _had_ a purpose, after all.  A calling that was more a part of her than Angel ever was.  “What about you?”

Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, and the way Spike’s smile morphed into a smirk told her he was thinking along similar lines.

“It’s not all death and bloodshed, Buffy,” he said, patting her leg with his palm.  “Even for the likes of me.”

Enough death and bloodshed to matter, but she didn’t want to think about the sorts of horrors this vampire had caused.  Not tonight, not when he’d shown her there were more sides to him than she’d ever thought possible.  Not now that she could see glimpses of the man he could have been, hiding beneath the demon.

Spike’s hand settled on her leg and Buffy’s gaze dropped to take this in.  Their knees were nearly touching and she didn’t remember either of them moving closer.  The whole thing caught her by surprise—a fluttery, adrenaline-infused surprise that sent a shiver rippling up her spine and crumpled her lungs like tinfoil.  Each breath took twice the work and she struggled to keep them even as she looked up to find him watching her out of the corner of his eye, smile having widened ever so slightly. 

“Said a lot of things, Dru did,” Spike said, tapping his finger on her kneecap in time to her suddenly racing heart, refusing to let her forget the contact.  “Ranted and raved about all sorts of rubbish gleaned from her precious stars.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, but all Buffy could manage was a breathy, “Hmm?”

“Most of it was a load of bull,” he said.  “Insanities spewed from a mind too splintered to ever mend.  But some of it’s starting to make sense.”

The pounding drumbeat of her heart was the only sound she could hear as Spike turned to face her, that same heady gleam shining out from eyes grown impossibly more intense.  As much as she wanted to look away, as much as the tickle on her neck flared up a warning for her to get the hell off that bench and as far away from Spike as possible, she couldn’t move, held captive by his eyes and that narrowing of the universe that seemed to happen whenever they locked gazes.  She fought not to acknowledge what he seemed to be saying, struggled to pull her mind away from that dangerous heading and think about anything else.  Sad puppies or screaming babies or a soulless Angel slowly torturing her by hurting her friends. 

Spike’s hand left her thigh and he slid away, and the spell broke.  Air rushed into her lungs and she stared at him, at the side of his face as he watched the people walking by.  If not for the lingering buzz at the back of her neck, she would have thought she had imagined the whole thing. 

“Whah...huh?”

He smiled, though he didn’t look.  “Forget about it,” he said, rising from the bench.  “Probably nothing anyway.”

Probably nothing, except that it hadn’t felt that way.

She stood and followed him as he started walking, leading them away from the pier and the Ferris wheel and the place she could never visit again without thinking of Spike.  They didn’t speak as they walked side-by-side, coats swishing together every few steps.  After a couple of blocks, Buffy guessed their destination and already had her return ticket in her hand when they reached the bus station.

The last bus to Sunnydale was waiting, ready to depart in a few minutes’ time.  Buffy stepped onto the first stair, knowing without having to look that Spike had followed her to the door.  She turned and found him leaning against the bus, a ghost of a smile lifting his lips.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek.  “Take care, Buffy.”

“You too, Spike,” she whispered, and meant it.

Spike took a step backward and nodded, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.  “Never know,” he said, as the other passengers started gathering around.  “Might make it to Sunnydale one of these days.”

Buffy smiled and tried to tell herself she wasn’t just a little bit looking forward to that.  “I’ll have a stake waiting with your name on it.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He nodded, his signature smirk spreading across his face.  “Goodbye, Buffy.”

He didn’t wait for her response before turning and heading away.  By the time Buffy found her seat, Spike had vanished, disappeared into the night as vampires should.

 _At least this one knows how to say goodbye_ , she thought, as the bus pulled away from the station.

Buffy leaned her head against the window, the motion of the bus and the emotions of the evening catching up to her in a sudden wave of full-body exhaustion.  She closed her eyes and remembered the way the city looked from the top of the wheel, imagined the breeze against her face, and marvelled at the mysterious workings of a universe that would send her to Los Angeles chasing after one vampire, only to mend her broken heart with another.

Already the night was starting to feel more like a dream than reality, so much that Buffy resigned herself to having to come up with some boring tale to tell the gang when she returned home.  They wouldn’t believe the truth anyway, so she might as well keep the memories to herself.

As she settled in for the journey ahead, Buffy thought that it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

*~*

The End


End file.
